Shrouded Victory
by PlumeMecanique
Summary: It is in Sif's nature to constantly search for enemies to fight - even in love.


A golden stream of ale was poured into the tankard and snowy froth rose up towards the edges - a sight that was usually welcome after battle, yet Sif's stomach roiled unpleasantly. She looked away, and her eyes landed on Thor: shining and victorious, crowned in glory, the object of everyone's admiration in the banquet hall tonight. Truly, there was no moment when it was easier to believe she loved him than when he had led them to war and back, and they were feasting on the memory of slain enemies.

Yet Thor's smile of late was more subdued, less joyful. It was plainer, with a tinge of grey. _The grey of Midgard_, Sif told herself. He was surrounded with the treasures and splendours of Asgard, the home he helped defend and save, yet still he was thinking of _her_. Sif took a rueful swig of ale and choked it down.

"Is the Lady Sif having trouble holding her drink tonight?" joked Fandral, his arm around a leggy blonde. "Perhaps you've had enough!"

"Not nearly," Sif muttered.

Fandral untangled himself from the serving girl and moved his chair closer to hers. Sif was surprised to see concern in his eyes.

"You've not been yourself of late. Is there something amiss?"

"Just weary from the battle, I suppose."

"Sif, we've been fighting together since Volstagg had no more than a light red fuzz on his chin. I know what you're usually like after battle. What's wrong?"

Sif pressed her lips together and shook her head. Fandral glanced towards Thor. He gave Sif a soft smile.

"It is a more dangerous and treacherous game than warfare, is it not? But do not trouble yourself, Sif. You and Thor are meant to be. Why, Odin himself has foreseen your wedding since you were children, and when has the All Father ever been wrong? Thor will soon forget the pleasures of Midgard, you'll see."

Sif nodded and forced herself to smile back. "Thank you, Fandral. Those are comforting words."

And yet they had hit so far from their mark. There was still a pain in her chest, a pain that only deepened when she thought that Fandral might be right. She and Thor had been friends since they were children, training together and playing together, and all her life she'd heard how the Goddess of War would be a perfect match for the God of Thunder. But however devoted she was to Thor, and however deep her feelings for him ran, they were too comfortable, too smooth. There was nothing to challenge her. Nothing to fight.

Sif excused herself and rose from the table. She was heading towards the outside rampart when a strong hand grabbed her wrist.

"Are you leaving so soon, Lady Sif?" Thor asked. "The banquet is far from over!"

Sif turned to him and forced a smile. "I… I was just going outside to get some air. It's too hot and noisy in here."

"As you wish," he said, releasing her. "But do not deprive me of your company for too long."

"You are too gallant, my lord."

That was just it - gallantry. Thor could not mean it; he barely noticed her company as it was. When had they stopped being honest with each other? She headed out of the crowded hall.

Once outside, Sif leaned down on the carved stone railing of the rampart. Asgard's sky was shimmering tonight, singing with stars, and yet they appeared dull to her eyes. How beautiful they must've seemed to the Midgardian woman, who was used to the still, flat skies of her world - and even more so because she was looking at them with Thor by her side.

A surge of jealousy coursed through her and for a moment Sif was almost reassured. She tried to imagine herself, contemplating the starlit night with Thor, his arms around her, so powerful and enveloping, yet stifling somehow, and heavy…

"Are you not enjoying the banquet, Sif?"

Sif rounded and instinctively reached for the hilt of her dagger, only to be met with pale eyes and an amused smirk. Loki had appeared out of nowhere, as usual, and seemed to find her reaction mildly entertaining.

"And what about you?" she retorted. "Were you not invited?"

"I was, if only by politeness," he said in a bored tone, "but I admit I find the perspective of spending an evening dodging the spills of drunken warriors and sloppy serving wenches less than thrilling."

"Afraid to soil your handsome suit of armour then? You of all people should know blood stains more than ale."

"_Handsome_?" Loki's smile broadened. "One is not used to hearing such compliments from the Lady Sif."

"I was merely implying that it was well-made," Sif said, but her face grew warm nonetheless.

"I did not think you were the type to notice that sort of thing during battle," he continued, drawing closer. "I'm pleasantly surprised."

"Loki," she warned. "Stay away."

"What are you afraid of? I'm unarmed, which is more than I can say for you."

"You're never unarmed as long as you can open your mouth."

Loki stopped right next to her and laughed. The sound sent a ripple of unease through her, and she found herself wishing he'd step back.

"That is true. I do believe you're wittier than everyone gives you credit for."

She stiffened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Most people see you as no more than a righteous, honourable soldier like my brother, meant to follow orders and rules without thinking."

Sif looked straight at him and raised her chin a bit. "What if I am? There is no wrong in that."

"But you're not," Loki said, his expression suddenly darkening. "Your mind is always seeking something that will resist you, that will test you. When you're stuck here too long, you go around in circles like a panther trapped in a cage."

"What has that got to do with -"

Her words died in her throat when Loki raised his hand to tuck a lock of her dark hair behind her ear, the cool tip of his fingers lingering a moment to trace the curve of her cheek.

"Have you gone mad?" she hissed, pulling back. "Don't touch me!"

"The Lady Sif," Loki murmured. "So agile and at ease when she's slaughtering enemies, so wary and skittish when a man is enraptured by her beauty."

"If you are playing with me, Loki, then -"

"Oh no, on the contrary, I'm quite done with this game. I've seen the way you look at me, Sif. It's changed."

"Have you used your illusions so much that you cannot see reality clearly anymore? What else would I see when I look at you than a trickster and a former traitor? You - you are not your brother."

He grasped her arm. "Do no think I am as blind as those clods around us," he spat. "You don't love my brother. You never have. Although…" He loosened his grip. "… you wish you did."

Sif's pulse was pounding through her veins, but she didn't move. "And why would I wish that?"

"Because it's easier."

"Easier than what?"

"Than admitting the truth."

He loomed over her, his eyes boring into hers like shards of ice. The cold radiating from him only made her more aware of the heat building up within her. She shivered.

"I can't remember a time when I didn't hope to catch you looking at me that way," Loki whispered. "When I would finally know that whatever Thor may have over me, he didn't have _you_."

Sif looked away, far over the rampart. She had never allowed herself to give in to her feelings, always kept them guarded to the point where she could almost forget they existed. Yes, there was something different now, something that had made her change. Seeing Thor and the Midgardian woman together, loving each other worlds away, when she couldn't even accept someone who had always been right next to her, someone for whom her stifled heart had been aching…

"Sif… Will you deny me what is mine? Will you deny yourself?"

She turned back to him, defiant, and he abruptly caught her mouth with his. She resisted only for a moment then pushed back against him, her eyes squeezed shut. Loki snaked an arm around her waist and crushed her tightly against him. Together they fell back into the shadows of an archway.

Sif tore her lips away from his to catch her breath. "This… this is folly," she panted.

"The very best kind," Loki mumbled against her neck.

"No, wait, what if - what if someone sees…"

"I do not care less if every last fool in Asgard sees."

"Loki, stop!"

He froze and drew back slowly. His expression was stony, unreadable. "So that's it, then? One kiss and the Lady Sif puts her armour back on?"

"I would not dare take my armour off where an enemy can strike me."

"An enemy?"

"Prying eyes," she said in a low voice. "Those are the worst foes of all."

A small smile danced on Loki's lips. He took her hand in his and brought it up to his lips to plant a light kiss on her knuckles.

"I will wait at your door then, so we may have some privacy."

"Tonight?"

"Tonight, and the next, and the one after that, until it opens, Lady Sif."

He pressed his forehead to hers and for a moment she closed her eyes, letting herself sink back into the sensation of his body so close against her, but when she opened them again, he had disappeared.

Sif strayed back to the railing. The light and the music of the banquet floated towards her as if in a dream, but she didn't want to go back inside. She watched the stars glimmer over Asgard, filled with elation and fear, and wondered if she would be brave enough when the time came. But theirs was not a love under the brightly lit sky. Under cover of darkness, she might find her courage.


End file.
